


Little Steps

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg is Sweet, M/M, Mild Language, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: Just a simple night together.





	

Leaving work before six was a rare treat for Greg. One hell of a trying day, but he exited NSY with a little spring in his step. A difficult case wrapped up, all his paperwork filled out, and best of all, the next few days off. Well-deserved days off, in Greg’s not-so-humble opinion.

 

After settling in his car, he slumped into the seat with a sigh. Long hours at a desk never did his back any favors. He fished his phone from his pocket, leisurely tapping out a message.

 

**Hey. Busy right now?**

His text tone chimed less than a minute later.

 

**_At the moment, yes, but I hope to be done soon._ **

****

**_MH_ **

****

**Want some company afterwards?**

Another chime.

 

**_Your company is always welcome._ **

****

**_MH_ **

****

Greg smiled.

 

**See you soon.**

* * *

 

Arriving at Mycroft’s residence, a stern-faced manservant ushered Greg into the main foyer. As usual the man vanished from view before Greg could thank him. At this point, he knew how to navigate the building without a guide. And he appreciated that he was trusted not to go poking around where he shouldn’t.

 

Greg strode up the curving staircase and headed right when he hit the landing. Of the rooms that he was given free reign, he liked a particular den on the second floor. It was much less sterile and more welcoming than most of the flat, with a large couch, a flat screen TV hidden behind a wall panel, and a wet bar with a quality collection of spirits. As Greg turned a corner, he saw the entrance to the den standing wide open. His surprise was quickly replaced with a small bloom of warmth in his chest when he understood what that meant.

 

The back of the sofa faced the door so he spotted Mycroft’s feet first as he entered, propped up on edge of the armrest. It was funny that socked feet could still come off as elegant. Maybe something to do with the fact that Mycroft’s cheapest socks probably cost more than five of Greg’s best suits. The two big toes outlined in what Greg guessed to be black cashmere flexed slightly. He tightened his lips together to hold down a chuckle at the sight.

 

Greg carefully slipped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He moved up behind the couch to peer down at the man. A moderate blaze was burning in the marble fireplace set in the far wall. The fire was slowly becoming the sole source of light in the room, bathing Mycroft in a dim, shifting glow.

 

His jacket was off; first indictor that the day’s work had proved stressful. He had removed his tie and opened up his shirt collar. His long fingers were stiffly laced together as his hands rested on his chest. There was a slight grimace twisting his mouth, and his eyes weren’t closed so much as squeezed shut.

 

Greg leaned onto the top of the sofa and cleared his throat. Mycroft’s eyes snapped open, flicking to Greg’s face. After the few seconds it took for recognition, his grimace relaxed into a smile, albeit a strained one.

 

“Alright then?” asked Greg, winking cheekily.

 

“Mm, slight headache,” Mycroft murmured, his eyes falling shut again. “Apologies. I meant to come greet you.”

 

“It’s fine. I just got here. You get everything done?”

 

“No, not exactly,” Mycroft said, pushing himself upright. He swung his feet to the floor and gave the couch an absent pat with his hand. Greg took the invitation, coming around the sofa to plop down next to him.

 

“Let us just say that nothing more will accomplished by forcing the matter,” Mycroft said, being vague about events as usual. “Several tempers need to cool first.”

 

“Everyone butting heads then?” Greg asked.

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

 

“I loathe when emotions override common sense. Especially in those responsible for making delicate decisions.” He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’ve already proposed multiple courses of action, ones beneficial to all parties involved. Unfortunately, some of the participants refuse to compromise on certain key points.”

 

“So everything’s deadlocked?”

 

“Oh, on the contrary. I expect this problem will be resolved in a day at most. Even children will see reason if given enough time to realize they are wrong.”

 

“Ah.” Greg reached over and gave Mycroft’s fingers a squeeze. “I get what you’re saying.”

 

Mycroft looked at Greg inquisitively. “Do you?”

 

“Sure. They’d rather stroke their egos than take the solution right in front of them. It’s like the Yard when it comes to working with your brother. Christ, I want to smack those higher ups who tell me I have to stop bringing him on because it `embarrasses` the department.”

 

Edging a hint closer to Mycroft, Greg tossed his arm along the back of the couch. He knew Mycroft took note of his repositioning.

 

“I get their side of it, I do. And yeah, Sherlock’s got a stick in his arse most of the time. But he’s a genius, and he gets us results. I’ll take that over my bosses whinging about their reputations any day.”

 

Mycroft’s cheek twitched, his amusement barely visible in the corners of his lips. “Yes. That is remarkably close to the current situation.” He leaned into the sofa, and Greg reached over to lightly trace his fingers through the short hairs at the base of Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft started slightly at the touch.

 

“Okay?” Greg asked, stilling his hand but not entirely pulling away. Mycroft glanced in his direction, a hint of sheepishness playing across his face.

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

Greg resumed tracing random swirls onto Mycroft’s skin with his thumb, smiling as he felt the tension in the muscles slowly release. Greg found it both endearing and a bit sad when simple displays of affection flustered him like that. Had Mycroft’s previous romantic experiences been nothing but a couple of dispassionate shags? The elder Holmes had stated at the beginning of their relationship that he was definitely not opposed to sleeping with Greg, and yet intimacy seemed to make him so nervous. How was it that no one had ever taken the time to properly seduce this confounding, fascinating man? It made Greg bound and determined to be the one to do things right.

 

So far, he hadn’t broached the subject of sex, though he was perfectly happy to lavish kisses and little intimate touches on Mycroft whenever was appropriate. This obviously perplexed Mycroft, but Greg had no intention of rushing things. He wanted Mycroft to be at ease with him, so the man could see just how much better it was when basic intimacy had a part in the proceedings.

 

It was all good as far as Greg was concerned. He’d never found himself in it for such a slow burn, but damn if he didn’t enjoy the pursuit. Each little step forward thrilled him down to his core.

 

“Forgive me,” Mycroft said suddenly, pulling Greg out of his musings. “It must be terribly dull to hear me complain about such trivial matters.”

 

“I don’t mind.”

 

“Gracious as always, Gregory. What a poor host I’m being-”

 

“Myc.”

 

Mycroft paused, throwing a glare at Greg. He generally didn’t care for the shortened version of his name. But it was an easy method of getting his attention. Greg chuckled as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth. He lingered, amused by his sulky expression. “I’m good. This is good. Great, actually.”

 

Mycroft peered closely at him. Greg caught the sudden flash of doubt in his eyes.

 

“Hey, none of that,” Greg gently chided. “Don’t go second guessing things. You’ve done enough of that for the day, I think. Get out of that head of yours for a bit.”

 

Mycroft huffed out a frustrated breath through his nose. “If only it were so simple. I find myself hopelessly distracted this evening.“

 

Greg hummed a thoughtful note low in his throat. He reached out and slid his fingers around the back of Mycroft’s hand, turning the palm upwards. He slowly skimmed the pad of his thumb across the expanse, following the unique lines and valleys that had been mapped into the skin. Mycroft watched languidly but said nothing.

 

“Maybe I could distract you,” Greg murmured, kneading little circles into the top of Mycroft’s palm. He looked up from his work and met Mycroft’s gaze. “Want me to try?”

 

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. He looked as though he was debating on pulling his hand free. He was definitely curious, though. “How do you mean?”

 

The corner of Greg’s mouth quirked up into a mischievous grin. “Won’t be very distracting if you know what I’m going to do. Gotta keep you guessing." His expression softened. “It’s hard for you to turn off that focus, yeah? So don’t.” He lifted Mycroft’s hand and held it against his chest, threading their fingers together. “Focus on me instead.”

 

Mycroft tensed, a small frown worrying his face. He glanced away as he tightened his grasp around Greg’s hand. “That sounds agreeable,” he said, almost to himself. Then he sat up, angling himself towards Greg. Slightly uncertain, but also open to where things might go.

 

It took a good amount of Greg’s willpower to not bear hug the ridiculous man so tight that neither of them would be able to breathe. Instead, he gently tugged on Mycroft’s hand.

 

“Come here,” he said, smiling.

 

Mycroft hung back at first, slow to comply. Then, he sidled up next to Greg so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Greg slipped an arm around Mycroft’s waist. He didn’t pull Mycroft any nearer to him, but just held him in a loose embrace.

 

Mycroft was still, breathing in and out while Greg sat quietly to let him adjust. He was perfectly content to watch the shadows from the fire grow more defined as daylight faded away.

 

It was unclear how much time passed. Greg suddenly felt movement next to him and turned to find Mycroft pressing closer into his side. As he watched, Mycroft exhaled a shaking sigh and lowered his head to rest on Greg’s shoulder.

 

“You’re warm,” Mycroft whispered.

 

A bolt of heat splintered in Greg’s chest. He wondered how noticeable his heartbeat was outside the thrumming in his ears.

 

“Yeah. You too.” Greg hesitated a moment before wrapping his arm more firmly around Mycroft. His world had contracted down to this one solitary point.

 

“Myc?”

 

Mycroft raised his head and looked at Greg. There was no annoyance in his expression this time. Greg reached out, daring to trace his fingers along Mycroft’s cheekbones. Mycroft closed his eyes as Greg’s hand brushed against his skin.

 

“Can-” Greg swallowed, not recognizing the low and husky note in his own voice. “Do you mind if I-?”

 

Mycroft cut him off as he slid his hand around the nape of Greg’s neck and drew their mouths together. Greg grunted in surprise, but eagerly committed himself to the new turn of events. There was a fluctuating back and forth as they traded kisses. Neither man was in a hurry to give up or take the dominant stance.

 

Mycroft’s hand trailed up and curled through Greg’s hair, tightening into a firm grip. Greg let out a muffled moan, allowing Mycroft to slip his tongue inside Greg’s mouth. It quickly became apparent that this was nothing like their previous kisses. Those had been simple, sweet affairs. This was building heat, need, and _Christ_ , where had Mycroft learned to do that little twist with his tongue?

 

Greg was actually having trouble keeping pace with Mycroft, and he couldn’t have been happier for it. Wherever this newfound eagerness had come from, it was positively intoxicating. Mycroft’s enthusiasm in kissing him kept shifting Greg’s balance until he lost it and fell backwards onto the couch. He grabbed a lungful of air as their lips parted, holding himself up on his elbows.

 

The next second Mycroft had deposited himself on top of Greg and straddled his hips. Planting his palms against the sofa, he caged Greg in between his arms. Then he stilled, his body taut with suppressed energy. His pupils had flared into molten onyx as he stared down at Greg. The implication was clear, even if he hadn’t given voice to it.

 

Warmth coiled in Greg’s gut.

 

“Right then,” he said, his voice dipping into a soft rumble. He surged upwards, pulling Mycroft fully onto his lap. He nearly laughed at the undignified squawk of surprise that Mycroft let out. Ducking his head, he trailed his mouth along Mycroft’s exposed throat, alternating between suction and gentle bites. He was careful not to leave any marks, but applied just enough pressure with his teeth and tongue to threaten the possibility that he might.

“What now, Mr. Holmes?” He smirked at the accelerated tread of Mycroft’s pulse under his lips.

 

A deep shudder vibrated through Mycroft. “You are a menace.” Something calculating slipped into the tail end of his words. Greg only understood the meaning behind it a second later when Mycroft tightened his thighs around him and moved, grinding their hips together.

 

Greg broke off with a breathless groan. Mycroft’s expression was multiple levels of smug as he leaned forward and reclaimed Greg’s mouth.

 

“Bastard,” Greg whispered, barely coherent between Mycroft’s underhanded, highly distracting methods and being snogged senseless. If Mycroft minded that Greg was rather uncoordinated in his attempts to reciprocate, there was no sign of it. He seemed more interested in purposefully and meticulously unraveling Greg down to his bare nerve endings.

 

“Turnabout, Gregory.” Mycroft’s smooth, cultured tone was laced with a rough impatience. “Now, stop talking.”

 

Greg was only too willing to relinquish control as his awareness was muted by a pleasant, buzzing haze. He wound his arms around Mycroft, his fingers clutching into high-end shirt fabric. Mycroft’s hands returned to cup his neck and thread through his hair. Greg’s heartbeat and breath spun together to form a dull roar in his ears.

 

All in all, this evening was shaping up very well, and oh, damn clever of Mycroft to tilt his head like that.

 

Mycroft finally broke away with a gasp, breathing apparently still a necessity even for him. He pressed his forehead against Greg’s, his breath coming out in unsteady pants. The rush of oxygen restored lucid thought to them both.

 

Greg closed his eyes, the world still spinning a little off kilter for him. In a good way. “Bloody hell.”

 

“I concur.” Little tremors ran throughout Mycroft, his hands gripping Greg’s shoulders.

 

Greg’s heart tightened with concern. “Hey, you alright?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I-“ Mycroft furrowed his brow, looking slightly embarrassed. He inhaled a steadying breath. “I can’t seem to keep my equilibrium where you’re concerned. It’s somewhat disconcerting.”

 

Laughing softly, Greg raised his chin to kiss Mycroft again, slower and calmer. Something in his ribcage fluttered as he felt a sigh against his mouth.

 

“Thanks for that,“ Greg murmured as they parted, teasingly swiping his tongue along Mycroft’s lower lip. “Take a breather? Don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves.”

 

A flush crept out from Mycroft’s cheeks, but he nodded. The sofa wasn’t terribly wide, but after some rearranging they were able to lie on their sides face to face. Greg let his hands travel to the small of Mycroft’s back, pulling him in closer.

 

“Good?” he asked.

 

"Yes."

 

Greg did a little internal jig as Mycroft curled up against his chest, tangling their legs together. He soaked in the warmth circulating between them.

 

“I just realized,” said Mycroft, his voice slightly muffled in Greg’s shirt. “I haven’t even asked you how your day went.”

 

Greg laughed as he nuzzled his chin on Mycroft’s hair. “Annoying, but fine. Even got the next few days off.”

 

“Oh.” There was a momentary pause before Mycroft inclined his head so he could look at Greg. “Stay here tonight, then.”

 

Greg’s heart rate abruptly spiked again. He searched Mycroft’s eyes, not wanting to assume anything without being sure. “Yeah?”

 

“There’s nothing pressing that needs my attention tomorrow. And I’d very much like to continue with what we were doing.” Mycroft hesitated, and then he reached over and gently cupped Greg’s cheek. “So, yes. Stay with me.”

 

Greg let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He leaned into Mycroft’s touch, so stupidly happy and wishing he knew how to put it into words. But as he took in Mycroft’s smile, open and fond, he remembered that it was fine if he didn’t know the words right then. Like everything else, there was no rush.

 

“Okay. I’ll stay. Long as you want me, Myc.”

 

He’d get there. They both would. Little steps. Always little steps.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Mystrade story that I ever started, way back in January. I got sidetracked with other stories and writer's block, but it finally formed itself into a finished product. 
> 
> It's also about as racy as I've dared to get up until this point. But still fluffy. Because it's hard to resist the fluff.


End file.
